There, They're
by FanNotANerd
Summary: Which is worse? Panicking over nothing? Or being right...and having no-one believe you?
1. Chapter 1

"Oohh…where is it?"

Spike ducked as hardcover novels, sheaves of research notes and a pair of weighty math textbooks went flying past. "Maybe you left it in the-" he started, but cut himself off as a quill flew past with lethal force, the sharpened tip embedding itself a full inch into the solid oak of Twilight's workbench.

The dragon settled for resting his elbow on a discarded stack of spell tomes, tapping his claws against his chin and watching with resigned disinterest the mess that Twilight was making of her library. The lavender unicorn had herself worked into a full-blown panic searching for some obscure theory textbook, as happened roughly once a month.

Spike himself had formulated several possible theories as to why this happened, fortified with some misinterpreted and out-of-context theory taken from several of Twilight's books. His current favourite was that all matter naturally and spontaneously fell into a higher degree of disorder. Twilight, being obsessed with organization, contradicted this rule, and every so often, needed to make a complete mess of things to get the tendency toward disorder out of her system.

Unfortunately, no matter what theories he came up with to explain her behaviour, he was still stuck with cleaning up the mess while Twilight trotted happily away, all anxiety forgotten, the book in question hovering beside her.

It usually took about fifteen minutes for her to pull nearly every book off the shelf and fling them around the library before finding the one she was looking for on a table or something. However, this particular episode had already gone on for nearly twenty minutes, and showed no sign of stopping.

In fact, if she didn't find it soon, she might literally attempt to turn the library upside down -

Spike yelped in terror and dropped to the floor as Twilight's prized bust of Tim the Enchanter came hurtling past and out the nearest window in a cacophony of shattering glass. A loud _bang_ from the center of the room implied that Twilight had now flipped over the round, solid ironwood table that she sometimes used as an impromptu workbench. The dragon winced as he imagined the kind of dent that thing would have just put in the floor, and rubbed his claws against his temple as he felt a familiar stress-migraine coming on.

He snuck a quick glance over his protective wall of books, to find that the unicorn was now frantically digging through the small filing cabinet beside her writing desk, as if a thousand-page hardcover book would even _fit_ in there.

Spike sighed and hunkered back down behind the pile of books, taking some comfort in the fact that she was no longer hurling heavy objects around any more. The files would probably last her a couple minutes, giving him some breathing room to try and find the book himself.

A cursory examination of the room quickly turned up the tome she was looking for: a hardcover, fully annotated version of _A Field Study on the Regenerative Capabilities of Hydras, Volume III_, propped up against a wall. It had probably been flung there by her initial, explosive panic attack, as usually happened in these situations.

The dragon darted out from behind his shelter and scooped up the book. Not a moment too soon, either; Twilight had just picked up the filing cabinet with her magic and was carelessly dumping the contents onto the floor. When it was empty, she gave a frustrated groan and flung it aside, where it landed an inch from an antique Germane armchair, and instead demolished the matching end table.

Spike managed to get to her just as she was attempting to rip her desk out of the floor; thankfully, due to the delicate equipment she kept in the drawers, Twilight had had the foresight to rivet it to a block of concrete buried a meter below the floor. But it was still painfully clear that it wouldn't hold for long, and so Spike wasted no time in leaping onto Twilight's back, yanking on her mane as hard as he could, and jamming the book in her face.

The unicorn paused, eyes scanning the title, mouthing the words emblazoned on the cover in gold leaf. Then she gave a satisfied "Ah!" and wrapped the book in her magic, trotting off to her workbench, which, apart for the quill embedded in the wood, was remarkably untouched.

Spike let out a sigh of relief, and grimly surveyed the interior of the library. Luckily, the force of the ironwood table's upending had been cushioned by several of Twilight's first editions, and the hardwood floor seemed unscathed. Unfortunately, the first editions themselves didn't seem quite so lucky. The side window had been completely obliterated by the bust, the filing cabinet was now sporting some nice dents, and the antique end table...well, calling it kindling now would have been generous.

Twilight, of course, was completely oblivious to the mess she had just created, and was happily poring through the field study, making occasional notes on a scrap of paper with the quill that had recently been embedded in the desk. After a moment, she frowned at something in the book, and started flipping through a sheaf of notes. "Spike," she asked, "Could you fetch me that copy of _Cell Anagenesis_? Something here doesn't really make sense."

The dragon directed a morose look at the book in question - which was currently being crushed under three hundred pounds of ironwood. "I'll...uh...get right on it."

Twilight looked over, spying the copy, and chuckled. "I know what you're thinking, Hercules. Don't even try it." A purple aura surrounded the table, and it flipped back to its proper orientation and position.

Spike bent over and picked up the book, frowning at the crushed spine. To be honest, he wasn't thinking about moving the table at all. In his current temperament, he was more inclined to just burn the thing.

As he walked over, book in claw, Twilight looked around, seeming to notice for the first time what a mess she'd made of the library. "Wow," she said, chuckling nervously. "Looks like I really went to town this time."

She smiled awkwardly at Spike, who had folded his arms across his chest and was tapping a foot impatiently. "I know. I'll help you clean it up this time. I promise."

Spike sighed. "You owe me some turquoise for this," he grumbled, slamming the book onto her workbench and going off to retrieve the bust.

Twilight flipped the book to its appropriate page and started reading. From outside, she could hear Spike grunting and biting back a string of extremely colourful obscenities (she had to have another chat with Rainbow Dash about her language) while he tried to extricate the bust from where it was lodged in the burrow of a very irate badger.

A pang of guilt touched her heart as she turned another page. Spike shouldn't be saddled with cleanup duty. It _was_ her mess, after all.

Twilight turned around and surveyed the library. The absolute least she could do was get that filing cabinet straightened up. As for the end table...well, she'd never liked that old thing anyway.

She quickly swept up the papers she'd shaken out of the filing cabinet, and began shoving them into their respective folders. Invoices and bills went in the blue folder, future checklists and notes to self in the red folder...

The unicorn smiled as she brought together a bundle of copied friendship reports. She'd begun collecting them after the Discord incident, after inventing an enchantment that transcribed what Spike was writing on a separate piece of parchment.

She quickly scanned over the most recent one, which she (or rather, Spike) had written the previous day. It detailed her account of a minor incident in which she had based the personality of all griffons off Gilda, who turned out to be a less-than-sterling example.

_Dear Princess Celestia,_ it read.

_Today, I learned that you can't judge an entire group based on what you've seen from one individual. I made the mistake of assuming all griffons were like Gilda, and ended up paying for it. There actually quite nice, and..._

Twilight frowned. Something in that last sentence looked off. She quickly reread the passage again.

_There actually quite nice -_

For a moment, she could only stare at the parchment, her mouth hanging open in shock. Finally, she found her voice.

"_SPIKE!_"

Outside, Spike jumped as Twilight's voice tore through the air. A happy consequence of this was that he finally dislodged the bust from the burrow, much to the relief of the badger attempting to show the dragon the error of his ways by blunting its teeth on his armoured scales. While it was convinced its efforts were actually accomplishing something, it was resulting in a severe pain in the lower jaw.

Indeed, at this point, the badger found itself wondering why it was suddenly the focus of the story, especially considering the interesting predicament Spike now found himself in.

Seeing as he didn't have any clues to go on, the only thing his mind could do was leap to conclusions. _Oh, Celestia,_ he thought, his eyes widening. _Did she find those Playmare magazines? I knew I should have gotten rid of those!_

He ran to the front door, keeping his face blank. _Keep it cool,_ he told himself. _Try to play dumb. Don't give her any ammunition!_

"Yes?" he asked, poking his head through the door.

Twilight jammed the letter in his face, simmering with rage. "What is _this_?" she snapped.

It took the dragon a panicked moment to realize it wasn't a _Playmare_ magazine being held an inch away from his nose. It was Twilight's most recent friendship report. He breathed a quick sigh of relief before responding. "Uh...a friendship report?"

"I know what it is!" Twilight yelled, stomping a hoof. "Read the third sentence in the first paragraph!"

Spike read the relevant passage, frowning. "I don't know what's-"

"_There_ actually quite nice?" Twilight shrieked. "That's the wrong homonym entirely! 'There' denotes a place! 'They're', the correct version, is a contraction of 'they are', and denotes possessive qualities!"

The dragon scowled at her. First she turned the library upside down, and now this? "Twilight, it's a simple mistake."

"Maybe," the unicorn said, turning away and flinging the letter down on a worktable. "But this was a letter to the _Princess!_ Everything I send to her has to be _perfect_!" She stamped a hoof with the last word, jostling an inkwell on a nearby table.

Spike gently pinched the bridge of his nose between his claws. "Remember what happened the last time you panicked like this? If I hadn't talked to the princess, you probably would have destroyed-"

Twilight gasped. "Of course! Spike, you're a genius!"

"Ponyville," the dragon finished, his voice trailing off. "I'm sorry, what?"

Twilight looked away and began pacing back and forth. "I can send a letter to the Princess explaining that it was a mistake, and then she won't banish me to the dark side of the moon!"

Spike folded his arms. "And where did you hear she might do that?"

The unicorn paused. "Well...okay, maybe that won't happen. But I have to try to reason with her!"

"Twilight, she probably didn't even notice!"

"But what if she did?" Twilight snapped. "What if she's waiting to see if I'll do anything? What if she's-"

Spike clapped his claws over her mouth, cutting her off. "Twilight. Relax."

Twilight sighed. "I'm sorry, Spike. I just get so worked up sometimes..."

"Tell me about it," the dragon muttered.

"But I still need to clear this up. A mistake like that is inexcusable."

With that, she trotted off to her workbench and retrieved a piece of parchment. "Dear Princess Celestia," she said, scribbling with a quill. "It has come to my attention that there was a minor error in my last friendship report. I wish to apologize for said error, and pass along my assurances that it will not happen again."

"Your faithful student, Twilight Sparkle," she finished, signing her name with a flourish. "There we go. Now if you'll just send it, we can put this whole mess behind us."

Spike rolled his eyes and blew out a tongue of flame, sending the letter on its way. "Now, can we get started on cleaning up the library?"

Twilight glanced at the piles of books behind her. "You know...how about you take a break? It's my mess, after all."

Spike frowned. "Uh, Twilight? Are you feeling okay? What about your project?"

"Oh, the project can wait," Twilight responded, picking up a few battered tomes. "It's the least I can do for averting potential disaster."

Spike was about to point out that using the wrong word was just about the farthest possible thing from disaster when he felt a familiar feeling in his gut. _Already?_ he thought with vague surprise, as he belched out a tongue of green flame, from which appeared a sealed scroll.

Twilight's ears perked up. "Gimme!" she squeaked, and snatched the scroll out of the air.

"My dearest Twilight," she read. "I've looked over your last friendship report, but I can't seem to..."

She frowned. "I can't seem to find the error you mentioned. There really wasn't any need to point it out to me, anyway. Everypony makes a mistake every now and then. And besides, I'm sure a minor error in a friendship report won't change it's message at all..."

She jerked her eyes back along the sentence. _Won't change it's message..._

Her eye twitched.

"Uh, Twilight?" Spike asked. "You're looking all weird again..."

She ignored him, scrubbing at the offending apostrophe with magic, hoping that it was perhaps a fleck of dust that had fallen on the page.

"Twilight?"

That failing, the unicorn scanned the sentence again, hoping she had just missed some sort of context that made it correct. But there was no other possibility. Staring her in the face was the worst sort of grammatical blasphemy; a mockery of everything any literate pony held dear.

"Spike," she heard herself say, in a tone that seemed absurdly calm to her. "Get me every record you have of my previous correspondence with the princess."

"What's that supposed to accom-"

"Spike?" she asked, in that same flat tone. "Please."

In her mind, something was taking shape. To her knowledge, Celestia had never made an error of any kind. Like Twilight, she praised the written word in all its forms, and regarded any sort of error in that field as inexcusable. But to find one here…it meant something had changed. Not only that, but she had all but _ignored_ Twilight's admission of a mistake! Surely that sort of thing was tantamount to the highest form of treason!

Wasn't it?

"I've got it," Spike piped up, carrying a massive armload of scrolls. "But I really have no idea why-"

"Thank you, Spike," she said coolly, beginning to rifle through the scrolls. It was a massive undertaking, but she had to be _sure._

Even after skimming the first few scrolls, her certainty deepened. Every letter was written in her mentor's familiar, absurdly precise penmareship. The letters flowed with a nitpicking precision that would be nearly impossible to duplicate.

And there wasn't a single mistake among them.

What was it that Applejack sometimes said? There was a first for everything?

Maybe. But if there was one thing she'd learned, it was that every rule had exceptions.

Without another word, she turned and headed to the door. "Twilight!" Spike called after her. "Where are you going?"

"I need to think," she replied. "I just…I need to think."

Spike frowned, but let her go. A moment after the door closed behind her, though, he bent and picked up the scroll from where it had been discarded on the floor. His eyebrows met as he scanned the parchment, and came across the improperly used apostrophe. _That's what she's getting worked up about? An apostrophe?_

He let out a heavy sigh. There was only one thing to do.

A few moments later, Spike tapped a pencil against his chin, wondering how to phrase the letter he was about to write. No point beating around the bush like he did when Twilight realized her latest friendship was report was at risk of being "tardy". But he couldn't rightly say that she'd gone stark raving mad again. Mainly because she hadn't. This was just…a precaution.

_Dear Princess Celestia,_ he finally decided.

_Twilight's been acting weird again. I think it has something to do with finding an error in your last letter (you used an apostrophe incorrectly, or something)._

The dragon blinked, and his thoughts went fuzzy, as if someone had just thrown a thick, woollen blanket over his brain. For an instant, if you looked at him out of the corner of your eye, it looked like a shadow of some sort was standing behind him: a twisted, spindly thing that was a mockery of the equine shape. Then the moment passed, and it was gone.

Spike frowned. What had he been doing, again? Right.

He picked up the pencil again and continued writing.

_Anyway, I'm getting worrried about her. Could you com down and-_

He frowned. How many "r's" were there in "worried", again? And was there supposed to be an "e" on the end of "come"?

Spike shook his head. It _had_ to be right. Twilight had spent uncountable hours drilling him on proper spelling and grammar. Maybe it was just the stress of nearly being murdered by an enraged badger. It was messing with his thinking.

_Look at me,_ he thought, finishing the letter. _I'm starting to act like Twilight._

The dragon quickly breathed a gout of flame over the scroll, sending it to the princess. Then he turned and surveyed the library. Looked like he was stuck cleaning it all up anyway.

**To be continued...**


	2. Chapter 2

It would be nice to say that all was quiet in the halls of Canterlot Castle: specifically, the halls directly outside Princess Celestia's private chambers. Unfortunately, this was not to be the case, as the current Acting-Captain of the Guard was paying the solar princess a not-so-clandestine visit.

And so, the guards outside their princess' chambers had to stand at attention, fighting to maintain neutral expressions, as the admittedly distracting sounds of the unofficial "meeting" drifted out from behind the doors. In all honesty, just the fact that the two pegasi managed to remain at their posts as the all-too-familiar grunting and slapping sounds echoed through the halls could be considered an accomplishment.

The one on the right was trying especially hard to ignore the sounds and focus on just about anything else. At the moment, he was unsuccessfully trying to distract himself by counting the tiles in the floor's mosaic pattern. At the very moment that he completed one of the arcs of flame branching out from the stylized sun, a scroll appeared in front of him in a gout of green flame, making him lose his count.

Both guards stared at the scroll for a moment, then looked at each other. Then at the doors to Celestia's chambers.

"Your turn," the one on the right said.

"I did it last time!" the other snapped. "Get your facts straight!"

"What about that time I had to deliver that missive while you were conveniently out with the feather flu?"

"I was actually sick!"

After a moment, the guard on the right sighed heavily. "Fine. I can see there's only one way to settle this."

"Hoof wrestle?"

"No, you idiot," the right-hand guard snapped, fishing a single bit out of his pocket.

"Oh," the other replied, as the guard flipped the coin in the air and caught it deftly on his ankle, covering it with his other foreleg.

"Call it."

"Heads."

"It's tails."

"Bull. Let me see that."

The guard snatched the coin from his comrade, and studied it intently for a moment. Finally, he swore, tossed the coin back and snatched the scroll off the ground. "If I get mooned, I'm blaming you," he said, before raising a hoof and knocking on the door.

A brief scuffle could be heard from inside the room, before a male voice called, "This better be important!"

"Letter for the princess," the guard responded. After a brief pause, the door opened, revealing a sweaty and flushed Princess Celestia.

"I'll take that," she said, wrapping the letter in her magic and levitating it somewhere inside her chambers.

The guard peeked around her, noticing Aegis Shield, the Acting Captain while Shining Armor was on his honeymoon, standing in a corner, as flushed as the princess. "I hope you weren't too busy," the guard said dryly.

"Not at all," Celestia responded. "We were just about to finish our second round."

The guard made a face, and snuck a pleading glance at his comrade.

"You can watch if you want," Celestia continued warmly.

"I'll pass," the guard replied, his voice shaking.

The alicorn shrugged. "Have it your way," she said, turning back to the ping-pong table in the center of the room. "What was the score again?" she called to Aegis.

"Ten billion to one, my favor," the unicorn replied.

"It is _not_."

"Then keep track."

Celestia was just about to launch into a fierce rebuttal, but her Acting Captain cut her off. "What's the letter?"

The alicorn frowned. In all honesty, she hadn't even looked at it. It was likely some notice from a noble, demanding an audience or something equally tiresome. With a heavy sigh, she retrieved the scroll from where she'd flung it carelessly into a corner, loath to spend even a moment away from her game.

However, the moment she took a closer look at the parchment and noticed the slight charring around the edges that was indicative of dragon fire, her yearning for a good game of ping-pong was driven from her head.

"Another one?" she said, puzzled. "Why would she-"

Aegis moved toward the door, recognizing the expression on Celestia's face. "Shall I take my leave, then?" he asked, all stiff formality once again.

Celestia took a moment to finish reading the letter before responding. "Yes. I'm sorry, Aegis, but I'm afraid I have to cut our match short. Shall we call it a draw?"

"Something wrong?" Aegis asked, stiffening. "I can deploy a contingent of heavy cavalry if you-"

"That won't be necessary," Celestia interjected. _At least, I hope not. _"My pupil just needs some…well, let's say she needs some guidance.

Her acting Captain nodded in understanding. "Shall I prepare a carriage?"

Celestia smiled and flared her wings. "I _do_ have these, Captain."

Aegis sighed. "You know I can't let you go without an escort, Your Higness."

"I suppose I'll just have to sneak out, then," Celestia replied, launching off the ground and diving through an open window before her Acting Captain could even say a word. By the time he opened his mouth, all there was to chastise was a single white feather bobbing on the eddies of air.

Spike glanced up from his book as the door swung open. "The library's closed," he called out.

"It's me," Twilight said as she walked through the door.

The dragon frowned, glancing outside. The sun had barely moved. "Uh…you're back already?"

"Something wrong?" Twilight asked.

"No!" Spike replied. "It's just…you said you needed to think. And I thought…"

Twilight smiled. "Oh, Spike. There's nothing _to_ think about! I just needed to clear my head."

Spike blinked, momentarily stymied. If he knew Twilight at all, a grammatical error from her mentor should have sent her into a state of complete panic. It _had_ sent her into a state of barely restrained panic.

"I was getting myself all worked up over nothing," Twilight continued, reshelving a biology textbook that Spike had missed, mainly due to it having slid under a table. "So, I decided to just take a quick walk to focus my thoughts, and I realized just how silly I was being."

"So…" Spike ventured, "you're okay with Celestia making a mistake?"

Twilight surprised him by chuckling. "Oh, Spike. She didn't make a mistake! She _never_ makes mistakes. Once I realized that, there was only one logical answer."

Alarm bells immediately started ringing in Spike's head. He _knew_ she was being too calm. Any second now would come the wild, illogical assumption, and then the-

"She must have been in the middle of her weekly ping-pong match with Aegis Shield, and just dictated the letter to someone else. She didn't make a mistake. Whoever transcribed the letter did!"

It took a moment for her words to register. "Uh…" Spike managed. That…actually made sense. In a bizarre, grasping-at-straws sort of way, but as long as she wasn't convinced her fundamental understanding of grammar was incorrect…

"I'm just glad I realized what I was doing before I embarrassed myself," Twilight finished, still grinning. "So…how about we keep this between us?"

Spike chuckled nervously. "Yeah…about that…"

Twilight ignored him and strode over to the window. "You know, I can't even imagine what the Princess would think if she knew I freaked out about something as silly as that. Magic kindergarten might be a little far-fetched, but I can see a whole lot of annoying psychological evaluations coming out of that."

A frown crossed her features at that last sentence. It seemed that wherever she went, there was some so-called professional yapping at her about "delusions," or "obsessional behaviour," or some other such nonsense. It was downright irritating at times.

Spike, meanwhile, swallowed nervously and wiped some sweat from his brow. "I guess," he said, forcing a laugh.

The forced chuckle trailed off as he detected movement through one of the windows. Something large and white had just landed in front of the house. A moment later, there was a knock at the door.

"Oh! Now who could that be?" Twilight said, refusing to let anything disrupt her good mood.

Before Spike could even wince in anticipation, she'd opened the door. "Good after-" she began. Then she saw her mentor standing before her, and her expression instantly flashed to horror as she made a dozen connections at once. To her credit, she managed something that sounded vaguely like "Gah!" which, depending on the language, could be interpreted as "One moment please," before slamming the door and wheeling on her assistant.

"Spike," she asked quietly. "Why is Princess Celestia at my door?"

Spike winced. "Well…I may have gotten a little worried, and sent a letter asking her to come down here…"

"You _WHAT?_"

"I thought it was a good idea!" Spike protested. "You were acting funny again, and I thought it would be best not to take any chances!"

Twilight took a deep breath, her mind racing. "Okay," she said. "This might not be all bad. Maybe I can convince her you were just inviting her down for tea-"

"I specifically mentioned that it was because you were acting strangely," Spike replied.

"Spike…" Twilight moaned, putting her hooves over her eyes.

A series of knocks sounded from the other side of the door. "Twilight?" Celestia's voice called.

_Dear Harmony, she's treating me like a spooked animal!_ Twilight thought. _Okay, focus. You can fix this. Maybe I can pretend nopony's here? No, that's ridiculous. She already saw me. And every second I wait just makes it worse…maybe I can convince her that it was a mistake? Better than letting her think I'm some kind of obsessional nutcase._

Twilight took another moment to plaster a smile on her face, and swung the door open. "Why, Princess Celestia!" she said warmly. "What a pleasant surprise! Can I get you anything?"

Celestia blinked. "Is there any reason you slammed the door in my face a moment ago?"

Twilight's smile cracked. "I…uh…thought you were somepony else! There's this door-to-door salespony who just doesn't take a hint, and I…uh…thought you were him, and…"

To her immense relief, the Princess seemed to buy her pathetic explanation.

"So," Twilight said shakily. "What brings you out here?"

Celestia looked past her into the library. "Spike sent me a letter saying you were getting worked up over something. He seemed to think it was serious enough to require my presence."

"Did he?" Twilight said nervously, forcing a laugh. "Oh, that Spike. What a kidder. Ha ha…"

Celestia frowned. "I didn't get the impression that he was joking."

"Well, you know dragons," Twilight replied, a bit too quickly. "Sometimes, when he's had too much amethyst…"

"Is everything all right?" Celestia asked, cutting her off. "You look nervous."

"Nervous? I'm not nervous!" Twilight scoffed, unaware that her right eye had begun twitching violently. "Well, you can see that there's nothing wrong here, and I know you have important things to be working on-"

Twilight left her mouth on autopilot, her mind racing. _She's not buying it. This isn't working. But I can't back out now without looking like an idiot! I should have just explained what was going on. Stupid!_

"Twilight," Celestia said sternly. "I've known you for years. I can tell when there's something bothering you." An edge of steel entered her voice. "Or when you're lying."

"Don't be ridiculous," Twilight squeaked. "I wouldn't lie to you! What a silly-"

"Oh, for Pete's sake!" Spike howled. "Make it stop!"

Both Twilight and Celestia turned to him, the former frantically making "shut up" gestures, the latter frowning in consternation.

Spike took a breath. "All right. Yes, I sent you a letter because Twilight was acting strangely. No, there didn't end up being a problem. And if she's acting oddly now, it's because you've showed up completely unannounced. Now can we _please _just forget about this and turn it into an ordinary visit?"

Celestia paused for a moment, and nodded. "Well, if you put it that way, why not? If I might ask, what kind of behaviour was Spike so concerned about?"

Twilight blushed. "Oh, I don't think we need to go into that…"

"Why not?" Spike said. "It's actually pretty funny when you look back on it."

"Fine," Twilight said, stifling a chuckle. Now that she thought about it, it _was_ a little funny. Of course, she had no way of anticipating what was about to happen. If she had, she likely would have clapped both hooves over her ears and begun loudly singing "Waltzing Matilda," regardless of what immediate consequences that would have resulted in. In reality, every instinct was screaming at her to change the topic and move on. Unfortunately, her brain was so drowned in relief that everything seemed to have been resolved that her instincts were little more than a distant fly buzzing in her ear.

"I thought you'd made a mistake in the letter you sent me a little while ago," she said, giggling. "Which was ridiculous, because you _never _make mistakes. Funny, huh?"

Celestia cocked her head. "Which one? You mean that letter I penned about an hour ago?"

Twilight nodded. "Yes! That one! Which was about a mistake Spike made, in fact. Isn't that iron..." Her voice trailed off as Celestia's words sunk in. "You penned that letter yourself?"

"Of course I did," Celestia replied, puzzled. "You're my pupil, after all. Having one of my scribes pen a letter to you would be downright insulting."

"But…" Twilight sputtered. "That means…"

"That means what?" Celestia asked, frowning. "Is there something wrong? You're starting to sweat again."

Twilight shook her head, forcing her features to remain neutral. "Oh, nothing. Just…one of those hot summer breezes. Heh heh…"

"Tell you what," Celestia said. "How about you show me this letter? We can lay both our concerns to rest."

Spike was already there with the scroll in his claws, eyes flicking nervously toward Twilight. "It's here," he said cautiously.

"Ah," Celestia said, unrolling the scroll. Her eyes quickly scanned it for a heart-stopping period, at the end of which she shrugged. "I see nothing wrong."

Twilight's jaw dropped. "But…look here!" She thumped her hoof down on that infernal 'it's.' "The apostrophe shouldn't be there!"

Celestia peered closely at it for a moment. Then she laughed. "What do you know? You're right. I didn't even think about that."

"But…" Twilight sputtered. "But…"

"But what?"

"You never make mistakes!" The unicorn protested, staring at the glaring error in the letter. "How could you…"

Celestia draped a comforting wing over her shaking pupil. "Twilight…everypony makes mistakes. It's part of life."

"No," Twilight whispered fiercely, pushing herself out. "Not you. Not…" Tears suddenly blurred her vision, and she turned away.

"Twilight-"

"Don't talk to me!" Twilight sobbed, pulling away. How _could _she? Celestia was nothing less than perfect! Flawless, even! How _dare_ she mar that image of cool, collected dignity with even so much as a simple mistake?

Deep down in her mind, nearly drowned out by horrified panic, one voice rose up above the tumult. _Get away._

Twilight lifted her head, tear-stained eyes searching wildly for an easy escape. Finding none, she resorted to her final line of defense and teleported out of the library. She didn't care where, as long as she went _away._

Celestia stared at the moment Twilight had occupied less than ten seconds before, blinking wildly to clear the afterimage from her eyes. After a long moment, she turned to Spike, standing beside her with a near-identical expression of bewilderment.

"What did I say?" she asked.

It was raining. A part of her realized that it had been raining for a while now. After a moment's consideration, she decided that she didn't care.

Let it rain. What could she do about it, anyway?

Not that she wanted to do anything. All she wanted to do was sit beside this tree, watch the rain pour down, and do her best to be miserable.

It was stupid. She _knew_ that. She was overreacting, just like she always did. But she couldn't help it.

Twilight grimaced and dragged a hoof through the dirt, scrawling random patterns in the soil. The reasons for her reaction were perfectly logical, of course. Here was Celestia, an immortal, worthy and deserving of worship…how could she be expected to be anything less than perfect? Especially when viewed by a pupil.

And of course, when reality reared its ugly head, it was bound to be a shock. Nopony was perfect. It was unfair to think that anypony could even come close to it.

But no amount of detached rationalization could erase the burning feel of betrayal in her heart. And now here she was, upset about being upset.

"Twilight!"

Her head jerked up as Spike's voice floated through the rain. No. She wasn't ready to face him. She didn't deserve his concern. And Celestia would almost certainly be there, cool and unruffled and trying to calm her down in that maternally patronizing way of hers…

Twilight chuckled, putting a hoof to her head. _I've really made a mess of things, haven't I?_

"Twilight?"

The unicorn's head snapped around. Only then did she realize where she was: right beside Carousel Boutique. And Rarity was standing in the doorway, her glasses perched elegantly on her nose, frowning at her. "Whatever are you doing out in the rain?" she exclaimed. "You'll catch a chill in this weather!"

Twilight almost groaned. "Rarity, I…I just want to be left alone."

"Nonsense!" Rarity replied, trotting to her side. "I simply can't let you stay out here in good conscience. Come on, then. I won't leave until you have a roof over your head."

Twilight glanced over. Rarity had certainly come prepared: she'd made sure to grab an umbrella on the way out, which perfectly covered her entire body, and more importantly, her mane and tail. She knew better than to call it a bluff. With a heavy sigh, she followed Rarity into the boutique.

"Now then," Rarity said, producing a cup of tea seemingly from nowhere and settling it in front of Twilight. "Something is obviously troubling you. I won't ask you to tell me, but you might feel better if you got it off your chest."

Twilight intently studied the surface of the tea. "It's…it's nothing."

She glared at her reflection. "And that's what's bothering me. I'm upset about _nothing._ Why should I care if she makes a stupid mistake? It's not my problem! It's not even _hers!_"

Her voice had risen steadily as she spoke, until she was on the verge of shouting. "Why should I give a flying feather if she's not perfect? Why should I care if _anything's_ perfect? It's just one more thing I can't be!"

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and trying to calm herself. "I'm sorry," she said after a long moment. "You didn't need to hear that."

"Don't be," Rarity replied. "And no, I didn't need to hear that. But you certainly needed to say it."

Twilight shook her head and chuckled. "It just occurred to me that this all started because Spike used the wrong form of 'there'. Can you believe that?"

She shook her head again and took a deep swig of the tea. It tasted like rosehip, with a hint of peppermint. "Stupid," she muttered, draining the cup.

Her eyes scanned the room, around which was scattered bolts of fabric and a king's ransom in gemstones.

Rarity shifted nervously. "I ah...must apologize for the mess. You see, I received a sudden burst of inspiration, and-"

"Don't worry about it," Twilight said, waving a hoof.

A small white sign taped to the wall caught her eye. It had been placed above a small binder in a corner, which Twilight knew was used for appointments. Sometimes, ponies with more bits than sense would sign up for a one-on-one designing session, for which Rarity would bill them a seemingly excessive rate. When asked, however, she had simply blinked and replied, "You obviously haven't seen what Canterlot designers charge."

In any case, the sign was a new addition. But something looked wrong about it. Something that Twilight didn't notice until she physically read it.

The sign read: "Penis broken. Please use quill."

For a moment, the implications of the sign's literal meaning struck home, and Twilight had to fight back a gag of disgust. Then she read it more carefully, only to discover something even more loathsome.

"Rarity," she said, struggling to keep her voice even. "How long ago did you put that sign up?"

The alabaster unicorn looked up. "Oh, earlier this morning. Why?"

Twilight jerked her eyes back to the sign. _Earlier this morning…_

Could it be coincidence? Three blatant errors in one day, two from ponies whose attention to detail rivaled her own, and one from her own _assistant_?

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

Twilight cleared her throat and stood up. "Thank you, Rarity," she heard herself say. "I feel much better now."

Rarity frowned, glancing at the sign. "Is something wrong?"

_Yes_! she wanted to yell. _I don't know what it is, but I know something isn't right!_

But she couldn't say that. Rarity wouldn't understand. None of them would. "No," she said. "Everything's fine." She smiled. "Don't worry about it."

If one had looked over her shoulder at that precise moment, they might have seen something. Only a flash; a silhouette of a shadow. They may have said it looked something like a pony, except all wrong around the edges. It was almost as if it was fraying, or coming loose.

Of course, they couldn't have made out anything more than that. Not the way its hoof was extended, hovering indecisively an inch from the back of Twilight's head. And certainly not the expression on its ruin of a face.

Had anypony been able to see it, they may have said it simply looked…thoughtful.

Not angry. Not malevolent in any way.

Thoughtful.

**End of Part 2**

**To be continued…**

**Grammatically, it's fine as long as you capitalize Princess. All I can say is, you better have a damn good reason for portraying best pony as an unstable whackjob (not that the actual show hasn't done that a few times) willing to fly off the handle and bail on her mentor over one mistake. Other than that, good job, and I say keep the dick joke. Everybody loves a little dirty humor now and then.**


End file.
